


If There's Life on Mars

by ghostofgatsby



Series: Of Stars and Skies Above [1]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Anger, Anger Management, Arguing, Bruises, Insecurity, Insults, M/M, Multi, Relationship Issues, Space AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You need to fucking <em>stop this.</em>" Trott enunciates sternly. "<em>Stop</em> fucking running your mouth and getting yourself into trouble. Next time it happens, we're not picking up the pieces."<br/>Smith glares back. "And what about all that shit we said before, huh? The three of us against the world, or not at all?" His voice cracks a little and he swallows thickly.<br/>Ross sighs and shakes his head, defeated. "Against the world, sure. Just not the universe, I guess."</p><p>Smith has dreamt of space since he was young, thrilled at the idea of living on other planets and travelling the solar system. But the journey to get there has been harder than he ever expected. Through his aeronautics training and his life with his best friends-turned-lovers, nothing in life has been easy since.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If There's Life on Mars

**Author's Note:**

> Space? I guess?  
> I don't know what kind of AU this is, but I was listening to David Bowie and it happened. (Interestingly enough, the Hats sang a snippet of Life on Mars during the 1/12 livestream, the day after I wrote this.)  
> Space Aeronautical Pilots? I think Smith's a fighter jet pilot, or training to be one. Like, those military ones that patrol air spaces? Or like the Rebel pilots in Star Wars, I don't know. Only they fly through space, patrolling interplanetary flight. I'd say he's maybe mid-way in training. He's able to fly the Earth-bound jets, and is working on tactical training for space flight. Ross and Trott are engineers, Ross probably more mechanics based, Trott more technology based.
> 
> Whoever they all work for sends people into space, and their goal is to work in the new metropolis places on Mars and the like. I'm thinking this is near-distant future, with some elements of the militarized jets like in Guardians of the Galaxy/Star Wars/Destiny/Elite Dangerous. Individual jets are a little smaller than an X-Wing, closer to the jets in Guardians of the Galaxy, I'm imagining.
> 
> No war going on, no colonization per say. Space travel is expensive, but it's like graduate school now in terms of how people get enrolled/get educated/get to go to space. The Hats’ idea was that they'd enroll in space training, they work their way up, Smith learns how to fly, Ross and Trott learn the technical bits, and then when they graduate they're going to go live on Mars or something. I don't know.
> 
> cws: Fighting, Arguing, Bruises, Insults, Anger, Anger Management Issues, language as per usual only more aggressive towards each other instead of other people, crappy problem solving, mention of homophobia, one use of a gendered slur?  
> If I need to tag anything else, let me know.
> 
> reblog?: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2016/01/27/if-theres-life-on-mars-ghostofgatsby

Smith kicks open the door to the one-room apartment he shares with Trott and Ross, strutting in with his jaw set and his eyes steely. The pictures on the wall tremble when he slams the door behind him.

Trott and Ross' heads snap up at his arrival, the cards in their hands forgotten immediately. They stare at Smith from the couch and watch the third of their trio seethingly rip the gloves off his hands.

"The fuck happened this time?" Ross asks quietly. He and Trott share a bitter side-eyed look.

"I've had one _hell_ of a _fucking day_ , that's what." Smith mutters, back turned. He yanks his jacket down his arms and throws it towards the coat rack. It lands on top of Trott and Ross' boots, and Smith throws his own shoes into the pile.

"Don't scuff the wall again, Smith." Trott warns, perturbed by the sound of rubber hitting baseboards. Graduate loan money only went so far, and right now they couldn't afford to pay for any more damages to their apartment.

" _Fuck you._ " Smith snarls. "They're just fucking _shoes!_ "

"And last time your temper got the best of you, you punched a hole in the fucking wall. None of us have the money to pay for that, so you should be a little more courteous for once." Ross states calmly.

Smith grinds his teeth. "Piss off. Keep your mouth- fucking _shut_ , Ross- maybe some courtesy would do _you_ a favor!" He stutters. Smith yanks down the zipper to his orange jumpsuit and steps out of that, too. The ironed-on emblem on the back crumples in on itself, distorting the aeronautics symbol as the jumpsuit falls to the floor.

Ross scowls. "I told you 'you need to settle down' and you punched a wall. I don't see how that was my fault."

Smith turns around at last, fists shaking, and his friends finally notice the heavy bruises on his face, the cuts and scrapes, and the split lip.

"You've got to be fucking _kidding me._ " Trott says slowly. "You got in a fight _again?_ " He stares incredulously at Smith, waiting for an explanation. His eyes burn holes into Smith's skin, tracking down his shaking arms, and zeroing in on his busted knuckles.

Smith grinds his teeth. "You don't know anything." He retorts.

Ross scoffs and shakes his head. He pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers, feeling a headache coming on. "I thought you said you weren't going to get into these messes again, Smith." He sighs, disappointment leaking into his words.

"You weren't there." Smith counters. "You don't fucking understand these bastards, they're the one's who start it-"

" _Do they now?_ " Trott interrupts him loudly, raising an eyebrow. "Because the more I hear things in the halls, Smith, _you're_ the one who picks them."

"Well, I'm not, so go fuck yourself." Smith retorts. His friends ignore the insults- it doesn’t solve anything. Ross says as much.

"Do you really think insulting us back is going to change what we think?" Ross asks tiredly.

Smith's expression sobers slightly. He swallows thickly and lifts his chin a little higher. "Why do you care, anyway?" He mutters. "It's not like it's _your_ pride on the line."

Ross purses his lips together in annoyance.

"You're a fucking _idiot_..." Trott sighs. He shakes his head heavily, stands up from the couch, and stalks over to Smith.

" _I’m_ an idiot? For fighting them? And how would _you_ reply, Trott?" Smith asks through his teeth, face red and eyes narrowed. "How'd you fucking deal with those fucking homophobic bastards every day? Fucking take it like the bitch they call you? Let them tell you what a worthless piece of shit you are, that you just-"

Trott shoves Smith into the wall, hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs and cut his rant short. He pins Smith's shoulders with his hands, and gives him a cold, hard stare.

"I'd fucking ignore it like I have been for the past eight months we've been here." Trott snaps. "Sorry I'm not so _obvious_ in my shitty anger management."

Smith's eyes widen, and he tries to backpedal his argument. "But I- I thought it was just- I didn't know-" He stammers.

"You need to fucking _stop this._ " Trott enunciates sternly. " _Stop_ fucking running your mouth and getting yourself into trouble. Next time it happens, we're not picking up the pieces."

Smith glances over at Ross. The other man has his chin propped up in his hand and is staring at him with a disappointed, glum expression. Trott's still staring Smith down when he looks back at him, as if all their problems lie trapped inside Smith's head.

"Look, I wouldn't have expected you to." Smith sighs in agitation. "I can handle my own, I told you before-" He sucks in a wince as Trott traces a finger down the worst of the bruises.

" _Obviously._ " Trott drawls. He tuts and releases Smith, his arms dropping to his sides. "I understand that you hate the way they talk, I get it. But you can’t keep fighting them for it.”

Smith grinds his teeth. “What am I supposed to do? Doing nothing doesn’t solve anything, either.”

“And fighting them does? You’re just going to get yourself hurt. It’s not going to make them stop, and if you get yourself expelled, you're on your fucking own, Smith." Trott says grimly. "We're not dropping out and following you if you leave here."

Smith glares back. "And what about all that shit we said before, huh? The three of us against the world, or not at all?" His voice cracks a little and he swallows thickly. He looks up at Ross, who shrugs and looks away.

"Against the world, sure. Just not the universe, I guess." Ross sighs defeatedly.

Smith gives him a dirty look. He moves away from Trott and shuffles toward their single bedroom. "Fuck you both, then." He mumbles. The door shuts hard behind him.

Trott spends a long minute staring at the off-white door between him and Smith.

Ross heaves a sigh.

"You know, Trott..." He says slowly. "You could have told me you were getting that kind of hate, too. I thought this whole thing was just on Smith’s end. Now...I don’t know what to think."

Trott shrugs, retaking his seat on their beaten-up couch. "It didn't seem important." He says. He picks at his nails, keeping his eyes trained on the bedroom door.

"Trott." Ross tugs on Trott’s shirtsleeve until he meets his eyes. "You're important. Don’t think you aren’t."

Trott gives him a small smile, and looks away again. "I know that, sunshine. You don’t need to try and reassure me." He starts collecting up their abandoned card game, scratching at the coffee table to get the cards off the sticky surface.

Ross shrugs. "I'll say it anyway. You're important, and so is Smith." He licks his lips and glances longingly at the closed bedroom door.

If Smith comes out, it'll be tomorrow morning when he needs to catch a cab back to flight school for training. Ross will have to make his peace with him then, if he gets up early enough, and if Smith falls asleep before he and Trott do.

Ross worries his lip between his teeth. He hadn’t said much, in this argument, but that doesn’t mean the words didn’t hurt Smith any less.

His mind is stuck on the glare Smith gave him, like a freeze-frame from a movie.

 _I didn’t mean what I said_. _None of us ever mean the hurtful things we say. We’re just too worried you’ll leave us, too._

Ross can hear Smith moving around in the bedroom, because the walls are paper thin. He’s probably bandaging his knuckles with a disgruntled expression. He wore it the last time he came home like this, except in the living room, because Trott wasn’t home yet. Smith spent the rest of the evening lying on the couch with his feet in Ross’ lap and a bag of frozen peas on his face.

Trott wasn’t thrilled about it when he got home.

"How many fights do you think he's been in now?" Trott asks, swiping cookie crumbs off the table and into the dingy carpeting with a scowl. They were way overdue to vacuum the floors. From the couch, he could see the buildup of gravel and salt in the carpet by the front door.

"Three? Four? Those are the ones we know of." Ross sighs. He grabs their empty mugs of tea and stands to take them to their kitchen sink. It’s a short walk.

Trott taps the deck of cards against his thigh, straightening the edges out before he puts them back in the box. He listens to Ross wash up, hears the water rushing through the pipes in the walls. At the edge of his hearing, he catches a muffled thud and a curse from the bedroom- Smith probably tripped over the trunk at the end of their bed again.

Trott scans the coffee table for anything else that needs to be cleaned, and hefts one of their engineering textbooks off the corner with a groan. The last thing they need would be to spill coffee on a two-hundred dollar textbook on library-loan.

The book is heavy in Trott’s lap as he cracks it open. He might as well catch up on the reading he’d been procrastinating on, if Smith was going to be quiet for the rest of the night. He flips through the pages idly, intent on reaching chapter eight...eventually...

An envelope wedged mid-way make Trott pause. It’s clearly been opened along the top, ripped apart with a finger, and probably had been used as a bookmark. But it’s not just a bank statement or something.

Trott picks it up and turns it over in his hand, reading the official postage address of their aeronautics school in the top right, and finding it addressed to Ross. It’s got a subtle weight to it, and the paper is off-white and fancy.

Trott looks up Ross, who’s elbow deep in dishwater, and back to the letter in his grasp.

Should he read it? Or should he ask?

He traces the wax-sealed insignia on the back and clears his throat. “Hey, Ross?” He asks over the sound of brush scrubbing metal. “Is this yours?”

“Hm?” Ross looks over at him and stills immediately, eyes focusing in on the letter Trott’s holding up. “Oh. Um.” He brings his hands out of the water, not even bothering with a dish towel to dry them as he speed-walks over.

Trott frowns.

Ross wipes his hands dry on his jeans and takes it from Trott with trembling fingers. He bites his lips as he looks down at his name on the opened envelope. “It’s, um. Just junk. That’s all.” He mutters, turning back around.

“Junk?” Trott echoes. _Then why are you being so secretive?_

Ross hums in agreement and shoves the envelope into a drawer- the utensil drawer, Trott notices. Ross immediately goes back to doing the dishes. His back is tense this time, and Trott knows if he keeps at it he’ll be complaining all day tomorrow about muscle soreness.

He gets up and walks over to him.

Ross is staring intently at his hands beneath the water, brow furrowed, face pinched. His arm moves in sharp movements as he tries to scrub their casserole dish clean.

Trott’s sudden hand on Ross’ shoulder makes him jump.

“Ross. You can tell me, you know?” Trott says, inwardly chastising himself, because Ross told him the same thing not fifteen minutes prior. “If it’s good, or bad, or whatever.”

Ross sighs, shoulders slumping. “I know.” He draws his hands out of the water a second time, but wrings them through the dish towel instead and turns to Trott.

Trott leans up against the counter and waits patiently..

Ross chews his lip. “Remember how I said I could be branching out? Being trained under more rigorous settings?” He asks as he takes the envelope out of the drawer.

Trott nods.

“Well...I got a letter.” Ross says, setting the envelope on the counter space between them. “And it was about getting accepted into the space division of engineering.”

“Space division?” Trott eyes widen in surprise, smile just beginning. “Wait a minute. The lunar branch? You’re that far ahead?”

“Yeah...” Ross looks down at his feet. “They offered to promote me up, since I’ve bypassed a lot of the curriculum here.” He wrings the back of his neck with a hand.

“So what’d you say?” Trott asks excitedly. His excitement slips into worry, however, because Ross is still chewing his lip. And he isn’t trying to hide a smile like Trott is.

“I said no.” Ross answers at last. He sighs shakily and looks back up at Trott to meet his eyes. “I told them I couldn’t.”

Trott knows how much this means for any of them, to get the acceptance letter they’ve been working so hard for. It’s another step towards their dreams, but Trott can understand Ross’ hesitation.

“You- but-” He shakes his head and pulls Ross into a tight hug. “Ross, mate- you should have said yes. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell us when you got this?”

Ross leans his head against Trott’s, wraps his arms around him tightly. “Because you would have wanted me to go.” He whispers. “And I didn’t want to leave you two behind.”

Trott laughs a little sadly, a little wistfully, into Ross’ shoulder. “You’re a fucking idiot, too.” He teases. “You should have said yes. Don’t worry about us. You would have told me or Smith the same thing, if we were in your situation.”

“I know, but...” Ross shrugs and pecks a kiss to Trott’s head. “Space is a long way away.”

“It is.” Trott admits. “Are they going to offer again, do you think?”

“It’s...more on my leisure as to when I want to go, to be honest.”

“Wow. Shit.” Trott sighs. “Fuck, Ross...guess you’ve really outsmarted me.” He laughs.

Ross scoffs. “Come on, you? No way. I bet they’re going to offer you a spot next, just you wait.”

Trott chuckles and shakes his head. “No fucking chance.”

“But what if they did?” Ross pulls his head back a little, meeting Trott’s eyes. “Would you go?”

Trott thinks for a moment and shrugs. “I don’t know. On one hand, might as well. But on the other...if you’re accepted, too, we should just wait around for Smith.”

Ross nods and kisses his cheek. “I’m not sure I’d _let_ you go, to be honest.” He grins. “I’d miss you too much.”

Trott smiles, leaning in to kiss him gently.

Ross’ hand splays across Trott’s lower back, nudging him just the tiniest bit closer, until they’re pressed chest to chest and hip to hip.

Ross is the one to break the kiss, however, and chuckles. “So you wouldn’t miss _me_ if I left? You said I should go, but you’re obviously okay with me wanting you here.” He states, tongue in cheek.

“I trust you in space, I don’t trust you here.” Trott replies with a grin. “Not much trouble you can get up to in space.”

Ross rolls his eyes. “I’m sure there’s trouble in space, too. Smith’ll create it if there isn’t.”

Trott laughs. “True.”

“But who the fuck knows what space is like, mate. Probably cramped and boring.”

“So you’d rather stay here where it’s very much _not_ cramped and boring? I wouldn’t call this apartment spacious.”

Ross kisses him again, briefly, before he laughs against his mouth. “But if you left, Trott, there’d be more room in the bed!”

“Oh, so _that’s_ how it is.” Trott raises his eyebrows. “More fun without me around, huh? Nobody to keep Smith in check, either.”

“Is that what you do?” Ross replies with a smirk.

Trott snorts and pulls away, extracting himself from Ross’ arms. “Yeah, well, that doesn’t work very well does it?” He sighs.

Ross shrugs and turns back to the dishes. “I don’t know...I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you. We’ll just have to work on that, with Smith.”

“Yeah...” Trott murmurs, looking in the direction of the closed bedroom door. “Yeah, we will...”


End file.
